It started with small things.
The way Naim remembered how she liked her tea.
Less sugar. Extra milk.
The way he knocked before entering their room.
Even though it was his room too.
The way he never asked questions she wasn't ready to answer.
Hena noticed.
And that was the problem.
Because noticing leads to feeling.
And feeling leads to attachment.
She wasn't ready for that.
One afternoon, she was in the kitchen helping her mother-in-law when she accidentally burned her finger.
She hissed softly in pain.
Before she could react, Naim was already beside her.
"Let me see."
His voice was calm, but his eyes were worried.
"It's nothing," she said quickly.
But he gently held her hand anyway.
Not tightly.
Not possessively.
Just carefully.
He turned on the tap and let cool water run over her finger.
"You have to be careful," he murmured.
His touch was steady.
Protective.
And something inside her chest shifted.
It wasn't the intensity she once knew.
It wasn't fire.
It was warmth.
Slow.
Comforting.
Safe.
She pulled her hand back gently.
"I'm okay."
But her voice wasn't steady.
Because she wasn't just reacting to pain.
She was reacting to him.
That night, she lay awake longer than usual.
Naim was asleep beside her, keeping a respectful distance as always.
He never crossed the invisible line she had drawn around herself.
Even in sleep, he stayed careful.
Hena turned slightly and looked at him.
His face looked peaceful.
Kind.
Reliable.
Different from the chaos of her past.
She whispered softly, almost to herself,
"Why are you so patient with me?"
He didn't hear.
But maybe her heart did.
Because for the first time, she didn't think about what she lost.
She thought about what she had.
And that scared her more than heartbreak ever did.
Because losing something new would hurt twice as much.
Meanwhile, Arif received a job offer.
A small company.
Not glamorous.
Not perfect.
But a beginning.
He stared at the email for a long time.
This was what he had wanted.
A chance.
A future.
But the one person he had dreamed of sharing it with—
Was no longer there.
He smiled faintly.
"I hope you're happy," he whispered into the empty room.
He wasn't angry anymore.
He wasn't desperate.
He was just… accepting.
And acceptance sometimes hurts deeper than rejection.
The next evening, electricity suddenly went out in Hena's house.
Darkness filled the room.
She froze.
She had always been afraid of the dark.
Without saying anything, Naim quietly lit a candle and placed it beside her.
Then he sat on the floor near the bed.
Not too close.
Not too far.
"I'll stay here until the lights come back," he said simply.
She looked at him.
"You don't have to."
"I know," he replied softly.
"But I want to."
Those words echoed inside her heart.
I want to.
Not obligation.
Not duty.
Choice.
For the first time—
She felt chosen.
Not forced.
Not transferred.
Chosen.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
And suddenly she realized—
The fear inside her wasn't about the past anymore.
It was about the future.
Because she was starting to care.
Starting to trust.
Starting to feel something she didn't dare to name.